


maybe youth is wasted on the young

by angrylizardjacket (ephemeralstar)



Series: my youth is yours [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 03:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17541647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/angrylizardjacket
Summary: “You sculpted a dick - adickof all things - around a piece of scrunched up newspaper and didn’t think to leave a hole to let the air escape? To let the air in the clay expand? Have you never-” She seethes, standing right up against the stool he’s sitting on, forcing him to edge away.“Are you yelling at me about sculptures in the middle of a bar?” Roger asks, and yeah he feels guilty about what happened, but he’s also pretty sure she’s using a fake ID, and the bouncer only didn’t card him because he’s in the band, and if she draws too much attention to them they’re both going to get kicked out.[the modern highschool au no-one asked for]





	maybe youth is wasted on the young

**Author's Note:**

> Not Asked For But Here Nonetheless. might write a bit more for this AU, but i’ve got a lot of prompts, so no promises. hope you enjoy.

Brian got saddled with the two worst tutoring students in the world, and if the high school wasn’t paying him, he’d have let them both go after the first day. Roger he knows; before Brian had graduated they’d both spent lunch times in the music room, and Brian taught him a bit of guitar, and Roger smashed away at the drums and sometimes took a nap. He never expected Roger to be taking physics, but they didn’t usually talk about school when they were at band practice. The band had formed in Brian’s last year of high school, and fortunately there was only a few months after graduation where Roger was the only highschooler, until they went in search of a bass player, and found John Deacon, who seemed to live his life in the engineering workshop room. Together, along with Freddie, who’s two years above Brian, and a  _design_ student of all things, they make a pretty great team, musically speaking at least.

Ash, as a student, is an unknown quantity, bursting into the room he’d booked for studying, covered in paint and clay, and fifteen minutes late. She’s bursting with apologies, but Brian gives her the benefit of the doubt, points to the seat opposite him, and smiles. If he was being honest, Roger’s session finished late, he was thankful to have a full hour between appointments to grab some food and go over his notes.

He doesn’t know if they’re in the same class, but they’re in the same year, and both not there out of their own free will. Ash sleeps in class, Roger gets into arguments with the teacher; both are failing. 

Ash is new to town, and all of her school shirts are pink. Not on purpose, but she put them through with a red sweater and the rest is pretty self evident, and she hates Physics more than almost anything else in the world.

“Then why are you doing it?” Brian asks when she announces this during their second session together.

“Because I don’t wanna dissect frogs and rabbits and shit, and I can’t remember the periodic table to save my life; maths, even complicated physics maths, is still maths.” She explains, slapping down a falling apart notebook and fishing around her bag for a pen.

“Language.” Brian admonishes, and Ash frowns at him, elbow deep in her bag.

“I’m seventeen, go fuck yourself.”

The thing is, she’s a good student, she can do the math, it’s just a struggle working out what it means, but she’s scatterbrained more than anything. And often late. Usually only by a few minutes, but everything changes the day Roger comes in ten minutes late, which comes as a surprise, he’s always quite punctual, and he’s covered in lime green paint. It’s in his hair and everything. He looks like he’s had an afternoon full of regrettable situations.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He doesn’t even give Brian time to ask, though Brian himself is rather distracted; it’s a Friday, they’ve got a gig tonight.

“You’ll be right for the show thought?” Brian asks, and Roger agrees easily, looking uncomfortable; the paint was still partially wet. As promised, Brian didn’t ask, and when the hour’s up, Roger leaves to go home and have a shower. After Brian’s break finishes, Ash doesn’t show up. Fifteen minutes after she’s meant to arrive, she’s still not there.

“ _What_?” Ash snaps into her mobile when she picks up, and Brian’s taken aback; she’s not necessarily soft-spoken, but he’d never known her to be so hostile.

“Just reminding you about your tutoring session is all.” He said gently, and he hears a sigh on the other end of the line.

“ _Fuck. Right. Okay.”_ Ash breathes, a little distracted, a little put-upon, and it’s followed by scuffling, a door being slammed, and a tap blasting water into a metal sink;  _the art room_. “ _Hey, listen, I’m just a bit-”_ sighing again, this time with resignation, the water’s still running in the background, “ _I’m just not up for it right now, some stuff has happened, and I just-”_ And there’s rustling as Brian hears her cover the receiver and holler a string of curse words at the empty -  _at least he hopes it is_ \- art room.

“Is everything okay?” Brian asks when Ash uncovers the mic and apologises quickly.

“ _I’m fine. I will be fine.”_ She tells him, before apologising that she won’t be able to make it to their session that day. She hangs up.

When he makes his way to the art room, because she’s obviously  _not_ fine and he cares when one of his students misses a session, he sees her through the window, sitting down with her head on her arms at a table covered in various shards of a sculpture. At a glance he thinks she’s asleep, but as he knocks gently on the door, he sees her look up, shocked, her eyes red-rimmed.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, roughly wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, standing in the door frame. She sniffles a little.

“I just came to make sure you were okay; the art room’s the only one with a metal basin that sounds like that.” He pointed over her shoulder at the art room’s sink. “What’s wrong?”

Ash is quiet for a very long moment, narrowing her eyes when she looked up at him, before turning on her heel and heading to the table with the sculpture fragments on it. They seemed to be in some sort of order, and Brian can pick out that it’s meant to be the bust of a woman, but it’s completely shattered, with a few pieces super glued together, though it seems she’d given up.

“My major work was destroyed.” She explained, voice flat, the statement followed by another sniffle. “Some dickhead put it in the kiln beside a piece with a huge air bubble in it.” At Brian’s confusion, she picked up a piece that looked like it had part of an eye; “the air bubble expanded and exploded and took out all my hard work on the way.” 

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what else to say, she looks absolutely devastated about the whole situation.

“I’m not up for Physics, I’ve gotta try and jigsaw this all back together.” And as she looks over all the work she still had left to do, her lip began to tremble.

“Yeah no, no worries; is there anything I can do to help?” Brian asks gently, Ash just shakes her head, can’t even open her mouth to speak because she knows she’ll start crying again. There’s a blur of movement out the window, and when Brian turns to leave, there’s a figure in the door. He’s tall, with the same striking ginger hair as Ash, and looks like every hipster English major Brian’s ever encountered.

“Who are you?” The ginger man asks, scowling, and Brian raises his hands in surrender, but Ash cuts in.

“Oz, he’s my tutor, he’s just checking in because I couldn’t make it today because- because-” and her voice catches on her explanation as she looks over her weeks of hard work scattered on the table before her. Brian goes to introduce himself to ‘Oz’, who he’s pretty sure is her brother, but the moment Ash sniffles, trying to hold back more tears, Oz brushes past him and it’s like they both forget about Brian.

“It’s going to be okay, Biscuit,” Oz murmurs gently, wrapping a now weeping Ash up in a hug, “I’ll help you stick all these back together and then we can go home, okay?” And he’s so fucking gentle about it that it actually surprises Brian, who hasn’t really thought enough about Ash as a person to devote an opinion on her beyond the fact that she’s a good student with a sharp sense of humour and terrible work ethic in regards to physics; not once, until now, had he ever really considered her  _fragile_. 

He tries not to think about it too much, as he leaves, but it’s hard not to when the two of them show up at his gig later that night. Even in the dim light of the pub he’d recognise her hair from a mile away, and he’s silently wondering how she got in. 

 _‘Oz’_  turns out to be Oscar Clarke, a friend of Freddie’s, Ash’s older brother, and as Brian had called it, an English major. 

“I didn’t realise I’d be seeing you again so soon, are you feeling any better?” Brian asks when the first set finishes; Ash is sitting on a high stool by one of the little round tables, and Oscar is leaning beside her with a bright smile. Ash nods, though she’s still a little subdued, and Oscar gives Brian an official greeting, thanks the guitarist for taking the time to check on his little sister, and offers to buy him a drink.

“Oz! It’s so good to see you!” Freddie wraps Oscar in a hug, interrupting them, before turning to Ash with a bright smile. “You must be Ashley, it’s lovely to finally meet you, my dear.” And Ash is halfway through a greeting and a grin when Roger hops down the the pub’s stage and comes over with their bass player to see what all the fuss was about. The moment they realise who the other is, both Ash and Roger freeze.

“I’m going to fucking murder him.” Ash says with a terrifying degree of confidence, and Roger can’t read her lips without his glasses but he sees her expression, and how she’s sliding out of her stool, and he bolts, leaving poor John confused. Oscar wraps his arms around Ash without hesitation, restraining her. “I’m going to gut him like a fish.” She says, with that same calm fury, struggling in her brother’s arms.

“So you know Roger?” Brian asks, and Ash snorts out a laugh but doesn’t say anything.

“Why do you wanna kill him?” Oscar asks, matching her calm tone, and Ash stop struggling.

“He’s the one who ruined my major work; him and his fucking meme-y, dick sculpture.” She spat, the composed veneer breaking as she dwells on it, and Oscar lets her go and turns back to a confused and concerned Freddie.

“Is she going to kill our drummer?” He asked, as John joined them, looking like an actual child, and he asks if someone can go to the bar and buy him a coke.

“She might.” Oscar says blithely, and heads to the bar. Freddie frowns after him. Brian chimes in, thinking only of Ash, covered in clay and crying alone in the art room hours after school had finished for the day, super gluing her shattered project back together one piece at a time.

“Listen, Freddie, I don’t say this lightly, but he might deserve it.”

“You’re a fucking bastard; if you don’t know how to work with clay properly, you shouldn’t even try, do you know how much work I put in-?” Ash snarled as she found Roger trying to hide his face at the end of the bar.

“I didn’t mean to-” He tried; she’d just thrown paint at him earlier that day, didn’t have the words to articulate herself. This is worse than the paint.

“You sculpted a dick - a  _dick_ of all things - around a piece of scrunched up newspaper and didn’t think to leave a hole to let the air escape? To let the air in the clay expand? Have you never-” She seethes, standing right up against the stool he’s sitting on, forcing him to edge away.

“Are you yelling at me about sculptures in the middle of a bar?” Roger asks, and yeah he feels guilty about what happened, but he’s also pretty sure she’s using a fake ID, and the bouncer only didn’t card him because he’s in the band, and if she draws too much attention to them they’re both going to get kicked out.

“Yes.” She snaps, and shoves him rough enough to push him from his seat. He catches himself before he faceplants. “I should kick your ass.” Snarling, she gives him the single most derisive look he’s ever seen, though he stands his ground.

“First of all, I’d like to see you try,” he smirks, moving the chair back and stepping into her space; her hands twitch as if she’s aching to hit him, “and secondly; over  _a sculpture_?”

“Over my major work!” She crows, and he finally realises what the whole situation meant for her. “Do you know how much work I put into that? Over a month and a half, you dipshit!” There’s tears in her eyes, and it seems to take her a moment to realise, and she turns away, gently dabbing to not smudge her mascara.

“I’m sorry, Ash.” Voice gentle, Roger awkwardly pets her shoulder, but she brushes him off. He crosses his arms, unsure of what to do with his hands. “Can I get you a beer or something?”

“We’re the same age.” She squints at him over her shoulder, and he shrugs.

“I’m in the band.” He smirks, puffing out his chest a little, and she rolls her eyes.

“I don’t drink.” And with that she leaves, finds her brother who’s bought both her and John sodas, and Brian gives her a sympathetic smile, and Freddie breathes a genuine sigh of relief when Roger follows behind, somewhat sheepishly.

“How you doing, biscuit?” Oscar asks, wrapping Ash in a side hug, and she shrugs, taking a long sip of her drink and leaning against him. They stay for the rest of the band’s sets; Oscar had brought her out to cheer her up, and eventually, when she starts bopping along to the music, it starts working. Roger, from what he can make out of her in the crowd, feels something in his chest ease to see her relaxing and enjoying herself.

When asked about how the confrontation went, when the band is packing up and Oscar and Ash have left for the night, Roger, to everyone’s surprised, tells them she had every right to be pissed.

“Though if she follows through on her threat to deck me, she’ll have another thing coming.” He snorted, packing up his high hat stand. Brian asks if they’d known each other before, and Roger turns an interesting shade of pink and goes quiet. “We’ve got art and physics together.” 

“But you’re not friends?” Freddie asks, watching Roger for a moment before he and Brian share a small smile.

“Do we seem like friends?” Roger snapped, and Freddie grinned wider. “She’s the best sculptor in our class; even our teacher was pissed when she found out what happened.” He admitted, before his voice dropped to quietly amused. “Ms Roberts got so close to swearing at me like four different times, it was actually pretty funny.”

“He likes her.” Freddie stage whispered to Brian, and Roger turned scarlet at that.

“I  _do not_.” He growled, “she threatened to  _murder me_.” But he was all flustered, and clearly a terrible liar while a  _little_ tipsy off of only two beers.

“You think she’s cute and you want to snog her because you know she wouldn’t  _really_ kill you.” Brian cooed, dodging Roger’s thrown drumstick easily.

“This is bullying.” He grumbled.

“She is cute,” John piped up, “got really nice eyes too, though the lights made them look all gold at times.” He mused, though Roger couldn’t see the bassist pointedly watching him.

“They’re green.” Roger corrects automatically, and John’s grin widens. He realises too late what he’s said, because both Brian and Freddie are howling with laughter.

“ _They're green!”_ Freddie wheezes, and does not get out of the way of the other drumstick quick enough, but also doesn’t seem to care. 

“Fuck all of you!” Roger snaps, thankful when he hears the honk of a horn and sees his dad’s station wagon parked outside and waiting. He starts lugging his stuff out as the others are still doting on him. Assholes.


End file.
